The Stones of Kaldaar (Song of the Swords Book 1) Page 9

Baehlon stared hard at the sword before turning back to her. “The next time you’re feeling heroic, alert us first, okay?”

  “Sure thing. Not a problem.” It wasn’t likely she’d find another young man with a sword hanging over him, after all.

  Baehlon moved in step beside her and placed his fingertips at the bend of her elbow. That slight touch, barely felt through her blouse, held immense strength, and a silent promise that he’d never, ever let anything happen to her.

  Chapter 9

  RHOANE stood with his back to the room and watched the couple as they strolled along the formal gardens below. Through the open window, he caught phrases of their conversation. Each time he heard Taryn’s rich laugh, he flinched. Dressed in the late duchess’s clothing, she looked like her aunt’s twin. If Hayden saw the similarities, he didn’t show it, but then, Rhoane didn’t think the young lad saw much beyond Taryn’s golden beauty.

  “Ready?” Baehlon’s deep voice startled Rhoane.

  His friend stood in the doorway with a crossbow dangling from one hand, Rhoane’s longbow held out for him in the other. “You convinced Faelara to leave tomorrow, then?”

  “Taryn could use a day to recover. Plus, it gives us time to refresh our stores.”

  Baehlon held something back, but Rhoane didn’t press. Whatever Faelara’s reasons for delaying their journey, he was thankful Taryn had one more day before the inevitable. For today, she was just a girl strolling the gardens with a boy. In a few weeks’ time she would be a princess with the future of Aelinae resting on her royal shoulders. Rhoane took one last look at the garden before turning from the window and taking his bow from Baehlon.

  They passed Hayden’s room on the way to the back stairs, and Rhoane had to suppress his gag reflex. Baehlon didn’t flinch at the stench of stale poison and vile ShantiMari, but to Rhoane’s acute olfactory senses, it was overwhelming.

  “Seems a bit odd Valterys would poison the sword, don’t you think?” Baehlon asked, taking two stairs at a time.

  “He is desperate. I have found those are the most dangerous types to encounter.”

  “Something’s not right here, but I can’t figure out what.” Baehlon shook his head, his braids flailing in every direction, a chorus of bells tinkling. “Why now? Why Hayden? If he wanted the sword, he only needed to find someone of the Blood to take it.”

  “Not just of the Blood. The stipulations are not clear, but the sword would only accept a bearer it felt worthy,” Rhoane reminded him.

  “She really doesn’t know, does she?”

  They reached the kitchen door, and Baehlon held it open for Rhoane, piercing him with a look that begged to be defied. Rhoane stepped through to the outer courtyard, shaking his head.

  “When Faelara told me Taryn had no idea of her identity, I thought she was jesting.”

  “What changed your mind?” Rhoane asked, unconsciously scanning the gardens for Taryn.

  “The sword. The girl would have to be mad to attack that thing like she did. When she held it…” Baehlon exhaled slowly. “Rykoto’s balls, I’ll never forget that sight. She fairly glowed with power.”

  “She will be needing you to instruct her how to use it.”

  “Aye, that she will. And happy to do it, I’ll be, but I don’t suppose her learning will stop at swordplay.”

  Rhoane gave a curt nod in agreement and led them toward a thick forest north of the house, away from the gardens. “That is where it will begin. Myrddin wants me and Faelara to show her how to wield ShantiMari once we are in Talaith.”

  Baehlon boomed a spurt of laughter. “I think I got the easier of the tasks. Has she told you anything of where she’s been all these years?”

  “Not much, but I have had glimpses, and I do not mind telling you, the place looks terrifying.”

  “You’ve eavesdropped on her thoughts?”

  “Not exactly.” Rhoane held up his hand, and the runes shone bright in the morning sun. After a few moments they faded back into his skin. “I try to block the images, but they come too fast. She has no idea.”

  Baehlon nudged his friend in good-hearted ribbing. “About the eavesdropping or what those fancy pictures on your hands mean?”

  Rhoane blanched at the forthright question. “Either.”

  “I hope I’m not around when she finds out. That girl’s fearless and reckless. You better watch yourself.”

  “Yes, I know. Thank you for your support.”

  Taryn’s laughter drifted on the breeze to where he and Baehlon stood. Hayden and Taryn were a perfect couple. Both tall with shining hair. Hers long and hanging loose down her back, his shoulder length in the latest fashion. Rhoane tried to stop the nagging thought, but it entered his mind like a worm all the same. Taryn was young and beautiful—she could love anyone she pleased—and she wasn’t bound by an oath. Wasn’t bound by a promise not only to her goddess but to her very soul. If she desired, she could choose Hayden to be her life mate.

  A spike of jealousy pinched his heart, and he turned toward the trees.

  “She watches you when she thinks you aren’t looking,” Baehlon said in a somber tone, his eyes serious and full of concern.

  “Yes, I know. She suspects I am withholding information from her.”

  “You are, and it isn’t just who she is. You could tell her how you feel about her.”

  Rhoane sighed and motioned to the garden. “She has enough to cope with at the moment. What she needs now is friendship and people she can trust. Anything more will come with time.”

  Baehlon clapped him on the back. “I don’t know if I’d wait too long, my friend. Young Hayden doesn’t seem to think the same as you. When we get to Paderau, it will only get worse. All those lords with nothing to do but find a wife. Once they learn who she is, she’ll be more sought after than a Danuri hildgelt.”

  Baehlon had managed to uncover Rhoane’s deepest fear. “If the gods will it, then I have nothing to worry about. I will not have her come to me out of obligation.”

  “Suit yourself. I’m just saying a word or two of encouragement might not be a bad thing. Ignoring someone generally doesn’t foster romantic feelings.”

  Damn the man and his honesty. It was true; he had been avoiding Taryn. His feelings for her were too raw, and he needed space and the normalcy of his friendships with the others. When he was around Taryn all he could think about was the soft curve of her neck or the way her hips moved when she walked. The sound of her voice sent sparks through him like volcano flares. When he first saw her in the cavern, all doubt of whether he could fulfill his part in the prophecy vanished. His heart was hers before she ever spoke a word to him.

  “It is complicated, as you know.”

  “Look, man,” Baehlon said, turning to face him. “I’m the last person you should take romantic advice from, the gods only know, but you and Taryn are the future of this world. Whether you want to accept that or not, it’s true. She needs you. More than you’ll ever understand.”

  “To instruct her, I know.”

  “I’ve read Verdaine’s prophecy. I know damn well it’s more than instructing her.”

  Rhoane let his thoughts brush against Taryn’s for the merest moment. The desire to eavesdrop was too great. He cut the connection and blocked her from his mind, leaving a shallow opening for her protection.

  “We should see about catching our dinner,” Rhoane said, trying to change the subject. But Baehlon put out a hand to stop him.

  “You’re my friend, Rhoane. You know I support you in everything, but if Valterys infects her mind with his Black teachings—”

  “I know my duty,” Rhoane interrupted. No one knew the prophecy as well as he did. “If it comes to that, I will kill her.”

  Chapter 10

  NEVER in her life had Taryn longed for modern conveniences as much as she did that night at dinner. After spending much of the day wandering the gardens with Hayden while he talked nonstop about people she didn’t know and places she’d never been, all she wanted wa
s a tumbler of whisky, a hot shower, and some painkillers. Her heel throbbed with a devious constancy that distracted her just enough to be bothersome. She had to be careful how she placed her foot to avoid the point of impact or a slice of fire would ravage her leg.

  “You’re not eating,” Duke Anje whispered. “Faelara will not be pleased.” A smile crinkled the edges of his dark eyes, giving him a softness she liked.

  Taryn forced several forkfuls of the delicious meal down before pushing a root vegetable around on her plate. The others weren’t interested in what she ate, at least not at the moment. They were too concerned with other things she should or should not be doing. Things like learning to dance and using the sword. Or not wearing the torn leather pants Rhoane had given her; instead, she’d wear some of the late duchess’s clothing. Above all, she must appear proper.

  Taryn stabbed a ruddy looking vegetable. “Wear this, say that, blah, blah, blah. I’ll wear what I damn well like, thank you very much. And live where I choose, not in some bloody palace.”

  Of them all, only Duke Anje heard her. “Don’t let them upset you. Once in Paderau, we’ll get you fitted for clothes that are your style. As for lodgings, I hope you’ll stay in the palace as my honored guest.”

  She couldn’t refuse his kindness. “Of course I will. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

  “Not at all.” He motioned to the others who continued speaking as if she and the duke weren’t in the room. “They have your best interests in mind, do not doubt that.”

  Beneath their words existed an undercurrent of another, secret conversation, one she was not privy to. The looks they gave one another did not match the spoken discussion, and the death grip Rhoane had on his fork gave away the ruse. Despite Duke Anje’s fatherly scowl, Taryn pushed away from the table. Rhoane glanced up, but she avoided his look as easily as he’d avoided her the entire day. The slice of misery had nothing to do with her foot as she walked with forced steadiness into the library.

  Once certain she was alone, she slouched into a chair, rubbing her heel absently as she took in all the books amassed on the shelves. It would take her two lifetimes just to read them all.

  “If your foot is bothering you that much, you should have Faelara make you a concoction for the pain,” the duke said from behind her.

  Caught, Taryn turned to face him and smiled her best can-we-keep-this-between-the-two-of-us smiles. “And here I thought you liked me.”

  His chortle made his belly jump, which in turn made Taryn giggle. “They’re dreadful, aren’t they? Let’s see if I can’t ease your burden a bit.” He sat in the chair opposite and took Taryn’s foot in his hands. After several minutes of his massaging, a sharp prick burned her heel. Instinctively, she flinched, but he kept a hold of her.

  “This is odd,” he mused. “There doesn’t seem to be any more poison, but I can feel something…just here.” He gently pressed with his thumb. “Hold onto the chair, this might sting.”

  Before she could protest, the duke ground his finger into her flesh, mumbling indecipherable words with a set cadence to his speech. Hot turned to cold that blurred into pins and needles before finally settling into a comforting warmth. A smattering of sweat on his forehead caught the candlelight, deepening the frown that cut between his dark brows.

  “What was it?” Taryn asked, her voice unsteady.

  “I don’t know, and that concerns me.” Remembering himself, he said to Taryn, “Nothing for you to worry about, though. I believe I got the last of it. Here,” he placed her foot on the floor and stood with his hands held out to her, “let’s give it a test.”

  Taryn took his hands in hers and rose slowly, still placing most of her weight on her good foot. Gradually, she eased more weight to her right until she stood balanced on the two. No ragged shots of pain raced up her leg, no throbbing from her heel—only a slight tenderness remained.

  “Oh, your grace, thank you.” Impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

  “Please, call me Anje.” His eyes clouded as he gazed at her. Again, she sensed there was something more happening, something she wasn’t invited to share. A breeze swept through the room, rustling the pages of a nearby book, and Anje cleared his throat.

  “You don’t happen to have anywhisky, do you?” Taryn asked, hopeful for at least one comfort from home. “It’s a drink, strong, burns your throat in the most delightful way.”

  “I think I have just what you need.” He moved to a sideboard and poured a dark liquid into two glasses. “To you, my brave and beautiful friend.” He handed her a glass and smiled at theclink the crystal made when they touched.

  “To you,” Taryn raised her glass, “my healer.”

  The drink slid down her throat with a satisfying burn. It wasn’t her favorite scotch, but it would do.

  “Well?” Anje asked when she finished her glass.

  “Just what I needed.”

  “Would you like another?”

  She did, but she politely declined. “I can barely ride a horse as it is. Being hungover won’t help.” She thanked her host before heading upstairs.

  The faint scent of roses lingered in her room, and she stood for a long time at her open window, gazing out at the lovely garden and hills beyond. If she’d had a choice, she would’ve asked that they stay there, at Ravenwood. From what Hayden had shared, life would be quite different in Paderau, and Taryn had had enough change already.

  When she closed her eyes to sleep, a dark face with a blood-soaked smile and hair the color of a raven’s wing teased the outer edges of her dreams. The night passed in a fitful attempt at rest.

  WHEN Faelara came to wake her, dawn was just breaking over the mountains. Exhausted, crabby, and out of sorts, Taryn met the others in the stables where the duke presented her with a gorgeous white mare named Ashanni. Gentler than the frisky Cynda, Anje assured her the ride would be much smoother.

  His generosity touched her. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to. Cynda was fine.”

  “Perhaps now you will have a second glass of dreem with me.” He gave her a wink then led his gelding out of the stables.

  Hayden stood nearby, a question in his eyes.

  “What?” Taryn demanded.

  “You drink dreem?”

  “Yes, I drink dreem. Is there something wrong with that?”

  A wide smile broke over his face. “Not at all. You are certainly a curious one, my new friend.” He left the stable shaking his head.

  As Rhoane passed, Taryn asked quietly, “What’s the deal with dreem?”

  “Not many ladies like such a strong liquor.”

  “Good thing I’m not a lady then.”

  Rhoane stifled a laugh as he led his horse to the courtyard. Taryn stared after him, completely perplexed.

  “We’d like to leave sometime today, if you don’t mind.” Myrddin’s chiding spurred her to clamber into the saddle and join the others as they rode away from Ravenwood.

  The horse’s hooves squelched with each step on the road made muddy from storms that had raged throughout the night. Mist hung about Taryn’s ears, tickling them. Drops of chilled water ran down her skin, soaking through layers of clothing. She pulled her cloak tightly against her, but the moisture found a way in despite her best efforts.

  The group rode quietly; when they spoke, it was in hushed tones, as if the trees themselves might give them away. Her night of fitful sleep dragged at her, but she fought to stay upright and alert. Myrddin once more led the group, staying away from the major roads and skirting any villages or homesteads they came upon. His flimsy explanation for the clandestine route—that the duke rode without an escort—only heightened her suspicion something was not right. The same something they refused to discuss with her. A nattering at the back of her mind told her to be wary.

  Tension from the previous two days touched them still. The burden of their fear lay wrapped in a blanket tied to her saddle where the sword sang a gentle melody about the days of Aelinae before the Great
War. Taryn’s hand twitched, and she had to keep herself from taking the weapon from its coverings.

  Truth was she liked the feel of it in her hand. The leather grip, secured with decorative silver work and studded with gems the color of a tranquil sea, warmed and molded to her touch. Exquisite dragons flanked the pommel with wings flared, talons gripping a large ruby. Crushed jewels of every color created the illusion of scales and diamonds glittered in their eyes. The imposing piece thrilled her each time she held it. More than that, it infused her with a sense of belonging. Of purpose.

  “These trees were planted by my great-great-grandfather on the eve of his wedding to his bride. Their marriage lasted two hundred seventy-nine seasons.” Hayden’s words interrupted her thoughts. “This part of the road is referred to as the ‘Lovers’ Tunnel.’ See how the branches join above us?”

  A line of trees stretched far into the distance, their verdant cover stretching from one side of the road to the other, twining in the middle. Sunlight peeked through, dappling the ground and warming her chilled skin. Too consumed with thoughts of the sword, she’d not noticed the tunnel of trees or the valley dotted with daffodils beyond the sturdy trunks. Sparrows sang sweet songs to them as they passed.

  “It’s lovely. They must’ve loved each other very much.”

  “Theirs was a love match from the first moment they met.” His eyes caught the light and glowed as brilliantly as the backlit leaves. “Would you like to hear the story?”

  Her brief nod was all Hayden needed to launch into the tale. When he finished with his great-great-grandparents’ courtship, he segued into Duke Anje and Duchess Gwyneira’s romantic endeavors. The song of the sword kept distracting Taryn, but when Hayden mentioned his mother was the empress’s sister and his father was the cousin of Valterys, her attention snapped fully back to him. Anje had the same dark hair and grey eyes as Valterys, but not the height or the hard edges. In fact, Anje’s gentle manner reminded her of Brandt.

  Hayden, the only living child of the duke, had inherited his looks from his mother. From the paintings Taryn saw at Ravenwood, Gwyneira was a beautiful woman with flowing golden hair, the same as her son, but with dazzling blue eyes. Anje’s firstborn was killed in an accident three seasons past, and six moonturns after that, his newborn daughter died in her mother’s arms only moments after birth and Gwyneira of a fever a few hours—or bells, as they called them—later. Luck did not favor the duke where his family was concerned, a fact he attributed to his severed relationship with Valterys’s family.